N E U R O S I S
by starry-eyed-boy
Summary: In order to invent a cure to the Flare, WICKED forces a select group of teenagers to undergo a draining quest through their biggest fears. Each test subject is sent through world after world, and each new portal leads to a new danger to conquer. Thomas is not like the rest. He wants to help the others escape. But WICKED is watching, and they're not about to turn the kids free.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: On the AO3 under the same name. My username is MyNeverEndingDistrust. Tbh I'd rather you read the story on AO3 bc of all the tags and notes and stuff but it's your life, so enjoy!_

Thomas struggled to take in the sight of everything around him. He'd heard of all of this, of course, who _hadn't?_ In this city, everyone knew about the Portal Chamber. Feared it. Families fretted over losing their sons to this place, but once the study had been conducted, they knew which boys had to leave. And Thomas had known all his life that he was one of them

Thomas had never wanted to believe that this would become his life.

But here he was, standing before the beam of white light, trying to focus on whatever was behind it. The rest of the room had an eerie purple hue, bouncing off of indiscernible items like a dark fog.

" _Scan complete."_

Thomas jumped at the sound of the mechanical voice, dread instantly washing over him like a wave. He knew this process like the back of his hand, everyone did. _Why bother,_ he wondered, _if they're going to take away my memories like everyone else's?_

" _Your fears have been processed. Please continue forwards, and stop at the alarm."_

Curiosity overwhelmed the feeling of apprehension in his gut as he strode forward, straining to get a look at the room once the damaging light left his field of vision. His shoulders sagged in disappointment when he emerged into a room full of computers. He had expected cooler machinery, blinking lights. Not a bunch of old computers from 2000.

A blaring alarm forced him out of his thoughts and stopped him in his tracks, momentarily too stunned to move. A screen descended slowly from the ceiling with a mechanical whirr, and by the time it reached Thomas, he was already bored, wishing he could turn on a computer and see what the other boys were up to.

"Thomas Greene," said a new voice, a cool female one, and the screen before him flickered to life. He expected to see a face, a woman talking to him, but instead there was a red background to what looked like a creative animation film like in school.

But the voice had sounded so real. If it was just a video, how did it know his name?

Thomas disliked not knowing the answers, and even more disliked having no one to ask.

"You, like many young boys before you, have been selected for an experiment that will decide the fate of our world."

 _Too much responsibility,_ Thomas thought, suddenly fearing what would happen if he did something that made the results inconclusive.

"The information on the virus is classified, yet I am sure you know all you need to know about it already."

Thomas shuddered. He had certainly seen enough of the virus to last him a lifetime.

"However," the voice continued, cooling, "your scan results were inconclusive."

Of course they were. Thomas groaned inwardly. What had he done now?

"Your phobias are unlisted."

What did that mean? Did he have no phobias? Was he going to be free of this?

The screen finally changed, showing low-quality jpeg images of the human brain. Despite his growing fear, Thomas snorted. He could have done a better job of this himself.

"Your deepest-rooted fears are Atychiphobia, which other boys scanned have suffered, and Thantophobia, which other boys scanned have also suffered."

"So what's the problem?" Thomas asked it out loud, but there was no response.

Or so he'd thought.

"The problem, Mr. Greene, is that there are no portals for you to go into."

A huge red X on the screen took advantage on Thomas's fearful state and startled him enough to make him jump back.

"Your fears are nothing concrete. Although other boys have had these phobias, they are always accompanied by something real. There was no way for us to build a world in which you constantly fail, not without us taking control of your minds, which would of course compromise your data."

Thomas had no idea what she was talking about.

"And, since all the subjects are to have their memories taken away, there would be no way for us to take away your loved ones over and over."

Thomas realised he hadn't known as much about what lay behind the Portal Chamber as he'd once thought. He knew the process up to this room, but not anything about what happened beyond it. Not anything that would clue him in to what the voice behind the giant X was telling him.

"Because of this complication, we're willing to compromise with you, Thomas."

Thomas had nowhere to look but the screen, so he nodded at it, feeling stupid.

"What is it?"

He hated how shaky his voice was.

"We will allow you to keep your memories, so long as you perform a job for us."

"I thought I'd get to go home!" Thomas was surprised at his own outburst, but surely someone who could not be tested would no longer be needed and he could go back to his mother, right?

"Unfortunately, Thomas, your data is crucial to our study. We need you, moreso now that you suffer from fears that can only be implemented _naturally._ As in, not by our technology."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"We still need to microchip you."

 _Microchipping_ was the last step they'd learned about back in the city. It was often seen as the final step to the "Portalling" process, as it was what happened directly before you went into the portal. Barely anyone knew anything about what came after ' _chipping._

The microchip was implanted to collect your data, gauge your reactions to your fears. To see how long it took to get over the fear, or how much worse it got. To really get into your head, to really see what made your brain get your body ready to defend. It made perfect sense to Thomas. They were pinpointing the exact part of the brain that got your body ready to defend.

Those were the basics they learned in school, anyway.

"But the microchips are what take away your memories,"

"Not if we don't need them to."

"Why can't you get another boy for your study?"

"Thomas, your data is crucial."

"You said that."

Thomas was tired of talking to this screen. When he didn't receive a reply, he considered walking out, but he needed to ask something else.

"What is the job?"

Silence for a few moments, and then: "You would collect outsider data on the subjects. While still exposing you to an environment that may activate your panic responses, you will observe test subjects as they live within our portals, see how they are handling things on the outside while we monitor the inside."

They wanted him to spy on the subjects?

Thomas shook his head. "I won't."

"Excuse me?"

"You're already getting into their heads! You don't need me to, as well."

"Thomas, I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

A slamming noise sounded behind him and suddenly the white light he'd come through was cut off. The same blaring alarm from earlier sounded all around him, invading his senses, vibrating the floor.

With all the noise, Thomas couldn't concentrate. He wanted to escape, desperately, but through the hazy purple light, he couldn't catch sight of a way out. He stepped away from the screen, hopped off the platform, feeling along the walls for a way out.

He felt something blowing on his face.

He reached for the air, patting the wall it was coming from, curiosity once again taking over his panic. As he got closer to it, he noticed his movements weakening. As he reached it, let the curious gust blow right into his face, he felt his fingertips falling asleep, numbness enveloping his body. His legs, vibrating with the rhythm of the floor, felt shaky and unbalanced.

"Shit," he swore, feeling the shivering floor shake him right to his knees, watching the purple glow fade steadily to black.

When he woke up, he woke up in a white room. A surge of anger flew through him, but he couldn't remember why. He hated waking up angry.

He swung his legs off the bed, noticing none of the wooziness he'd felt earlier.

Swiping his gaze over the room, he spotted a pristine white nightstand with a scattering of black and orange items all over it. Atop them lay a crisp piece of paper with writing scrawled all over it.

Irritation made his cheeks flush, but he couldn't recall why. He hated feeling things and having no idea where they were coming from.

 _Thomas,_

 _For your own benefit, we have removed most of your memories, including those of your family and of last night's conversation. With luck, you should remember your basic schooltraining about the portals, the mission WICKED has put you on, and why, as well as standards and basics about the world. We are always very careful in our endeavors._

Thomas did remember all of those things, when he thought about them. He knew what everything in this room was called, he knew his name, his age. But when he focused on bringing a clear image to his head of a face of any kind, he pulled up a blank. All he saw in his mind were vague human forms and hazy faces.

Confused and hurt, Thomas went on reading, desperate for more information. Maybe some clues to _last night's conversation._ That ominous phrase struck the most curiosity into him.

 _Below this note you will find tools to aid you in your journey. I will explain the function of each of them for you:_

 _Top Right: A locator. This device will help you should you ever need to find out what world you are in and what its_ _ **Swells**_ _are. Unfortunately, we could not make it alert you to when the_ _ **Swells**_ _will happen, for if you were to befriend a subject, you may use this device to help them avoid the_ _ **Swells**_ _, and that would interfere with our data._

 _Swells._ For some reason that term stuck in Thomas's mind, but he couldn't place a definition to it. Frustrated, he sat down and kept reading, hoping to gain some knowledge.

 _Top Left: This device is made from the same technology that allows us to transfer subjects from world to world. This will allow you to travel to whichever world you program into it. You are required to meet a quota of worlds traveled before you may return to the Home._

Thomas didn't even know how that was supposed to work.

 _Bottom Right: A watch. Portal activity shuts off at 11:00 p.m. and resumes at 9:00 a.m., except for one randomly selected day every week in which the activity will not cease._

That sounded promising.

 _Bottom Left: Data pad. You may take down any information about the subjects that you wish here. This information is reported back to us at WICKED as soon as it is collected._

Creepy.

 _Middle: Shelter Locator. This device will direct you to any place with a roof on it._

 _In the drawer below this table, you will find a backpack with other necessary supplies within it. Do not worry about food and water. There is a washroom within this area. Please take advantage of it before you leave._

 _Your first trip will be to_ _ **Claustrophobia.**_ _Please write this into your Portal Jumping device and step into the portal when it first appears. Once you are through it, the portal will close. There are two (2) subjects within Claustrophobia._

 _Do not tell the subjects what you were sent to do._

 _You will be expected to move on the next morning._

 _Please do not be in this room past 17:00. If you are caught in the room after this time, you will be punished._

 _Good luck, Thomas._

 _We expect great things from you._

 _Remember: WICKED is good._

 _Sincerely  
Dr. Ava Paige_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: If you see any words written like this: "emexample/em" or like this "strongexample/strong" or like this "emstrongexample/strong/em" just lemme know so I can fix it. AO3 makes you have to write it this way, and I use the same doc for both sites, so... I fixed it as best as I can tell, so with that in mind, enjoy!_

* * *

Thomas yawned, sleepy from the warm water of his shower. Breathing in the cool, clear air as he escaped the foggy bathroom, he pulled the basic grey shirt over his head. Anticipation flooded his body as he thought of the note from Paige, but a quick glance at the watch told him he had a solid hour of time. From what he knew about the portal worlds, he really did _not_ want to be in those worlds for longer than he had to.

He tugged open the drawer and pulled out his new backpack, a simple black bag with strong straps and silver accents. He unzipped it and dumped its contents onto his bed. Inside was a thin, plush blanket, a shirt, a hoodie, a pair of pants, a pair of underwear, a pair of socks, a hat (a _hat?_ ), a metal water bottle, a bottle of painkillers, and a small, grey bag attached to a clip.

The small bag was empty, so Thomas took the locator, the data pad, and the shelter locator and slipped them in, praying that no damage would come to them in there. He hooked it on to the strap on the backpack meant to cross the chest. Not wanting it to bump against him should he have to run, he used the drawstring on the grey bag to secure it tighter.

After reorganising his things in the backpack, Thomas waited around, frowning. He didn't want to leave just yet, he wasn't sure he was ready.

As he checked the door once again (still locked, obviously), his mind strayed to the note, which he quickly picked up and folded into the bag with his other navigation tools, just in case he forgot how to use them.

 _WICKED is good._

Why did they feel the need to tell him that?

Bored and tired of waiting, Thomas resigned himself to finally slip the watch on and pick up the Portal Jumper, as he liked to call it. It was a tiny square -the size of a cellphone, Thomas guessed- with a power button and a screen. There was a silver antenna on its top that Thomas decided to face away from himself.

He clicked the button, unsure of what else to do.

The screen shone with white light, momentarily making Thomas have to shut his eyes against it before it slowly dulled and left him with a small touch-keyboard and what resembled a search bar.

Licking his lips in anticipation, Thomas tapped in _**Claustrophobia**_ , because that was his only instruction.

The device vibrated in his hands and Thomas held it far away from him, squinting in case he was assaulted by another onslaught of light.

But none came.

Instead there was a beam, quick as lightning, and then a swirling, dark grey mass shaped like a sawblade.

Intrigued and a little frightened, Thomas ignored his pounding heart and peered around the portal. It was the same on the other side, and so flat that it almost couldn't be seen from the side. It made a light pulsing noise, but otherwise remained how it was.

He pulled his backpack on after checking all his zippers and buckles, tightening it on his shoulders and clipping it shut around his chest. He slipped the Portal Jumper (PJ?) into his pocket as an added measure.

In front of the portal again, Thomas hesitated. He had no idea what would be waiting for him on the other side. But he had nowhere else to go no other instruction, no other purpose.

Taking a breath to steel himself as best he could, Thomas slipped through the portal without a second thought.

It felt like someone dumped a bucket of warm water over his head, the feeling sliding over his body and soaking his skin. There was nothing to see, nothing to feel, but all of a sudden gravity kicked back in and he found himself connecting head-first with the ground.

Thomas groaned in pain, waiting for the light throbbing to subside before he pushed against the grassy ground and blinked against the sudden sun. His fingers contracted around the green blades as he checked the area around where he sat; it looked like a nature park, one lone stone path leading out of the sparse trees that dotted the field.

He pressed his lips together. There was nothing frightening about this place, the space was quite open, actually. He couldn't distinguish between relief and disappointment when he realised his new gadget hadn't worked and he was left alone in a park with no memories.

He stood up, the weird warm feeling making its way through the rest of his body briefly before disappearing altogether. The note had said there were two subjects here, but Thomas had no idea which way to go to find them.

Though relieved about the wide open space, Thomas couldn't help but feel underwhelmed by the utter lack of a frightening experience. He crossed over to the path and followed it in a direction that he hoped was forwards. He examined his surroundings; it was warm and partly sunny, a few clouds visible from between the trees. He almost felt the urge to yawn.

A gate slowly appeared amid the trunks, and to Thomas's great relief, it was open. He broke into a choppy jog, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he finally reached the metal bars and emerged onto a basic street. It looked like any other city road, except there were no cars, and all of the shop windows were empty. It was eerie, and Thomas was put off by the desolate, abandoned feeling of this place. Did people live here before the portal was built? Did they all contract the virus?

Looking from left to right ( _like a little kid about to cross the street,_ Thomas thought amusedly), he wondered if there was an end to this place, if there was some spot where he would hit a wall and that would be it, or if this space was just ongoing, never ending no matter how far you go.

Head spinning, probably from hitting it off the ground, Thomas crossed the street and headed towards the shops, hoping to maybe find something or someone that could help him. As he walked, he noted scathingly to himself that a post-apocalyptic city like this should have been foggy and cold, the weather as desperate as the scene itself.

Remembering something all of a sudden, Thomas disentangled the bag with his gadgets in it and pulled it off his backpack. He stopped himself in the middle of the street because he was sure nothing would happen. Pulling out the Locator, he searched for any controls, but like the PJ there was only one button.

The screen came to life and words began to type themselves on the screen.

 **CLAUSTROPHOBIA** , it wrote, **SWELL: Ceiling and ground approach one another, close around subject.**

Thomas had no idea how he was supposed to avoid that, nor what the machine had meant by "ceiling." Was he inside? He glanced up, The sky looked as far away as ever.

"Oi! Minho, I told you I'd seen something moving! Hey! Greenie!"

Thomas yelped, shocked to hear the voice shattering the eerie silence. He turned towards the sound, surprised to see a boy standing next to a shop some ways down the sidewalk. Intrigued, Thomas started to head towards him, figuring he had nothing else to do.

The boy was blond, and visibly taller than Thomas himself. He was leaned easily against the wall of the building he'd probably come out of. Thomas couldn't help but examine the sidewalk he was walking along, and the shops that littered it. Each of them said one simple word in place of a chain name. He passed BOOKS, CLOTHES, and FOOD before he heard the boy sigh impatiently. He dragged his view away from the line of store names and sheepishly started to speed up.

"Took you bloody well long enough." The boy snorted, slipping back inside without saying a word. Frowning, Thomas followed him into the building, which was labeled SUPPLIES.

The store was one huge room, packed to the teeth with tables and metal things scattered all over the place. There was fabric hanging from the ceiling, getting in his face and hiding most of the room from his view. It was much warmer in here than it was outside, and he didn't know how long he'd be able to stay in here.

"You are the Greenie, aren't you? It's about that time, I think." Thomas couldn't see the owner of the voice, only off-white sheets swaying in the light breeze from outside.

"The what?"

"Newbie? You've never been in a portal before, yeah?"

"Oh." Thomas examined the place, caught sight of many tools he didn't know how to use. "Yeah."

The silence was as stuffy as the air, and Thomas found he disliked this place, and he disliked his situation.

"Aren't you guys claustrophobic?" Thomas couldn't stop the insensitive question from slipping out, and briefly lamented the loss of his chance at a good impression. The thought had just slipped into his head. There was just so much clutter.

He couldn't even see the boy who'd brought him in here, or the boy that the first boy had been talking to outside. He leaned on a table, blowing dust from the sheet hanging in his face from his mouth.

Some hunk of metal slammed itself into his forearm before a scraping sound told him it'd been dragged away. He cried out in pain, jolting up and clutching his arm.

"'t's why the door's open, Greenie," responded the blond boy's voice, but it was too far away to have been the one who injured his arm. He pushed the sheet in his face aside, looking for either of the others, but he was only met by another sheet. "Aren't you?"

Thomas opted to ignore the question for the time being. "There's so much stuff in here, though. Don't you, like, need to escape?"

Something came flying through the sheet and hit him in his face. His cry of surprise was muffled.

"Stop beating the Greenie, Minho." The blond's voice sounded closer now.

There was no response but a horrible scraping noise.

"How's it coming?" The blond's voice asked. Thomas opened his mouth to reply with 'how's what coming' before he realised that the other had been speaking to Minho.

"Doin' good," the other boy grunted, "just hope the shuck thing holds."

"It had bloody well better."

Thomas was fed up with having found someone that was just ignoring him.

"What is this place?" He asked, trying his best now to manoeuvre around the tables and weave through the hanging fabric.

"You should know, you're here, ain't ya?" Minho's voice came from nowhere. Thomas started to sweat in the heat of the room. "You just asked us about it, too."

The scraping noise cut through the air again .

"Not the portal," Thomas grumbled, "this building. What are you doing?"

"Avoiding Swells," the blond responded, "as best we can, anyway."

"What are Swells?"

"You ask a right lot of questions."

Thomas batted away a piece of cloth. "What are they?" He demanded impatiently.

"Come over here and I'll tell ya."

"Where are you?"

"Right in front of your shuck face."

A dusty beige sheet was swiped away from Thomas's face to reveal the blond boy in all of his glory. Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"Name's Newt, by the way." He took a step back to let Thomas through. Minho was at a table with the metal thing Thomas assumed he'd been hit with, and a long silver pole. "That's Minho. He's a bit grumpy at the moment."

Minho snorted and continued scraping the metal against the pole.

"Thomas. Now what are Swells?" He was growing more and more impatient with each passing second, and it didn't seem to bother the other two at all. Minho snorted again.

"Give it a good twenty minutes and you'll see for yourself."

Thomas didn't want to see for himself. He leaned forward, ready to complain, but Newt beat him.

"Swells are how they track our fears."

"What?"

Newt tapped the side of his head. "Track us. With 'chipping."

"Didn't you have your memories removed?"

Newt frowned. "Yeah. So?"

"How do you know that?"

"The 'chipping left a bloody scar, triggered the memory of the process for most of us. With micro-gadets jammed in our shuck heads, what could this whole mess be other than a big study?" Newt suddenly narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "What's in the backpack, Greenie?"

Thomas unconsciously touched the strap on his left shoulder. "Clothes," he said evasively.

"How'd you get a backpack?" Minho asked, raising his head a fraction to glance at Thomas. Suddenly feeling guilty but not knowing why, Thomas decided to answer truthfully.

"They gave it to me."

"Who? The Creators?" Newt tapped the side of his head again to let Thomas know who he was talking about.

"Yeah, them. Before I went into the portal, but after they 'chipped me."

"And that?" Minho pointed to the bag chipped to his chest strap. Thomas opened his mouth to tell them that too, but then, remembering the note inside the bag, he hesitated.

"Food."

"They gave you food?" Minho asked, standing up sharply. "They never gave any other Greenies food." Thomas suddenly felt small.

"Uh-huh," he said quietly.

"Minho, keep working," Newt snapped, "we may not have a lot of time!"

"What does that mean?" Thomas asked, suddenly afraid of what Newt meant.

"You'll see come the next Swell, Greenie."

Thomas relaxed. He knew what the Swell was for this place, and he knew that WICKED wouldn't want to kill them with it. _Your data is crucial to our study._

"Stop calling me Greenie." He changed the subject, keeping it as far away from the content of his backpack as possible.

Newt just shrugged.

"This would be faster if you would help me," Minho grumbled.

"You're near done, anyway."

"When do the Swells come?" Thomas wondered if they'd worked it out. If there _was_ something to work out.

"We don't know." Minho grabbed the metal chunk and dragged it roughly once, twice across the surface of the pole, creating a horrible, higher screeching noise that made Newt frown and Thomas want to cover his ears like a child. "I think there might be a pattern."

"We've been at it for years," Newt added, "not much yet."

Thomas frowned.

"Are there any others?"

Newt raised his eyebrows. "Of course. There's a bloody tonne of other boys, and a lot more Claustrophobics than anything else." Thomas waited for him to start naming names, but the blond just fell into silence and watched Minho.

"Why aren't they here?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "Do you ever stop talking?" His voice was good-natured, but his tone conveyed his impatience. Thomas wanted to know, though.

"Where are they?" He pressed.

"In other portals. Most of the time we never cross 'em. Seen most of them in here, though."

"Are there some you haven't seen?"

"Well, I wouldn't bloody well know that, would I?"

Thomas shrugged, ears burning as he realised Newt was right.

Something came flying at him, once again. Unprepared, Thomas shrank away, covering his face, but nothing connected with him. Slowly he lowered his arms, looking around for what flew at him. The other two erupted into chuckles, and Thomas frowned at them.

"Scared, Greenie?"

"Isn't that kind of the point?"

They laughed again, and Thomas couldn't help but let his frown fade into a half-smile.

The item Minho had thrown was the metal pole, which Newt now held in his hands. it was roughly a foot taller than him, but he held it with ease. He examined it, and then nodded at Minho, who nodded back and picked up a pole of his own from the ground. Thomas wanted to ask what they were, but Newt took the speaking position first.

"Speaking of which, what are your fears, Greenie?"

Thomas felt his body tense nervously. There weren't portals for his fears, he remembered that much, that was why WICKED had made him their spy. If he told them what his fears were, would they know that he had nowhere to go? He trusted that they wouldn't have the same fears, and slowly allowed himself to speak.

"Claustrophobia, obviously," he began nervously, but they nodded in a way that said, _duh, go on,_ "Atychiphobia, I think, and Thantophobia."

Newt paled visibly. "You mean Thanatophobia?"

Thomas was a little freaked out by Newt's reaction, but he was fairly sure that 'Thantophobia' was what he'd been told he had.

"No, Thantophobia."

Newt relaxed, still looking a bit uncomfortable. "Lucky you, then. Thanatophobes get the worst deal. They get to go through every single bloody portal, the poor shanks."

"You guys wanna lay this out for me in English?" Minho asked impatiently, looking between the two of them. Thomas wanted the same thing. He had no clue what a "shank" was.

"Atychiphobia, fear of failure," Newt said, sounding like a smartassed little kid showing off to his relatives, "Thantophobia, fear of losing those you love."

"Good luck in _that_ portal," Minho said incredulously, smirking at him.

"Have you been?" Thomas hoped he didn't seem too suspicious.

"No," Minho shook his head, "never."

Thomas looked at Newt, but the boy just narrowed his eyes at him.

"Come on," he said, rather than answering the question, "let's get outta here. Starting to smell stale."

"Like usual," Minho shrugged.

Confused once again, Thomas followed the other boys out of the shop and into the waning daylight. His watch said 8:09.

"What do you fear?" He asked, as it seemed to be something that was easily asked among these two. He trailed behind them like a lost dog, wondering where they were taking him.

"Not so fast, Greenie." Newt raised the hand not holding the pole and waggled his finger a bit like a scolding nanny.

"You've got to get to at least Level Five friendship to get that info," Minho said casually. Thomas wondered if friendship levels were another weird thing with these two, like "Shanks" and "Greenies."

"But you just asked me!"

"And you just told."

Indignant, Thomas settled himself into a pouty silence as the boys walked along. After a long while (it was now 8:37), Thomas opened his mouth to ask where they were going. but a rumbling sound interrupted his thought and stopped the three of them in their tracks.

"Ah-h," Newt breathed shakily, looking up into the sky. He and Minho gripped their poles with both hands.

"What was that?" Thomas asked, just now coming to realise how many questions he asked.

"I hate being the one to deal with Greenies," Minho grumbled, just as Newt turned to him and said, "Just your luck, Greenie. You get to see your first Swell."

Before Thomas could say anything else, Newt turned and sprinted away, back towards where they'd come from, crossing the street toward the park gates. Taken aback, as Newt had been the one helping him out thus far, Thomas turned to Minho.

"What do I do?" He asked, suddenly scared for the first time since, well, he could remember. But Minho's gaze steeled and he backed up a step.

"Sorry, shank." He backed away again. "You're on your own."

And then he took off as well, leaving Thomas helpless in the middle of the sidewalk.


End file.
